CHAPTER NINETY FIVE – AMATEUR PAINTERS

For the next half hour, Jasmine and Claire found themselves essentially relegated to the role of passive observers while Gus launched into an almost ritualistic cycle of meticulous, vigorous brush painting. The old man was surprisingly dexterous, his callused hands applying and sweeping the scarlet pigment in smooth, rippling undulations that rendered the formerly splotchy door into a rich, luster-bathed surface. "See there? It's all about findin' a groove, layin' down a base, an' then arsin' back over top with longtail sweeps till it's slicker'n a fresh-greased mule on roller-skates," Gus enthused, his slightly wheezy vocals carrying an unmistakable tone of paternal pride as he appraised his handiwork. "Why, I reckon this dern' fenceline's gonna be the Meridian centerpiece to put the other half-decorated chicken coops an' tool shacks to shame, ya heard?" Jasmine couldn't deny the prideful gloss burnishing his weather-beaten features - nor the undeniable evidence of his craft. Sh